This place is not real. (This keyboard blows) I’ve been helping out quite a bit outside of the tech work. A half-dozen shifts of perimeter I suppose, but mostly working long hours at the gate, ignoring shift schedules.

I see from fb that J is having a going away party for her move to europe. I’m full of mixed feelings. Our relationship has none of the unknowns of my relationship with M, of course, it is wholly different. Communication with J has always been clear, even when we haven’t known exactly how we felt. It is wonderful, but completely different. While I can take everything one day at a time with K, I have history to consider with M + J. I’m reminded of my excitement for my relationship with B or G, only to be let down by my expectations.

I sat in the truck and listened to music for a bit tonight. In between napping I imagined long-term relationships with those people whom I have loved but didn’t work something out with. They’re all such different people. Then, I remember M commenting on a photo of me from the loft and how little I looked like I had changed. Yet, completely, many times. Is who I am really a constant? Surely if you zoom back far enough you can find some consistent(ish) values.

I completely feel my age. A friend here described me as having prior ‘large event experience’ in response to my help at the gate. I thought back to working traffic/parking at MOFGA. What was I, twelve? I don’t have any point of reference. And so reality, I realize as I feel no desire to socialize, only to work or rest, is entirely mutable.

We stopped to chat with friends of friends and as they talked of getting accustomed to the nudity I thought about ‘normal.’ In a way I can’t describe at the speed of this keyboard.

I remember M leaving one morning as I thought about building a two story bike rack in the garage. I built it that afternoon and she later commented on liking that I did the things that I talked about. I suppose, that’s what I do, that is the constant, I produce.

J commented on me being a “good man.” That seems, expected. That’s my character, where I come from, my lineage. I suppose that whatever happens, whoever becomes part of my life, that’s what they remember me for.